


Russian Lullaby

by sparky955



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-21
Updated: 2014-04-21
Packaged: 2018-01-20 04:59:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 782
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1497535
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sparky955/pseuds/sparky955
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Illya remembered that it HAD started out to be a lovely day.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Russian Lullaby

**Author's Note:**

> written for Spikesgirl58's prompt in the 2014 Live Journal MFUSS Easter Egg celebration: "fluffy chicks"

My name is Illya Kuryakin. I was a lieutenant in the Russian Navy. I was an operative in the GRU. I was an enforcement agent for the UNCLE. I was Number One of UNCLE Section Three.

I am married to the former CEA and Number One, Section One, of UNCLE. I am retired and enjoying having the time to read, to do research and to not be tortured unless my husband is feeling frisky. I am living in Maine helping to rescue and place abandoned Great Danes.

I am also sitting on the floor in a closet, wearing a women’s pink flannel nightgown with matching robe and singing to a lapful of baby chicks.

It had started out to be such a lovely day.

I was sitting on the side porch, enjoying a pot of Darjeeling, a warmed over cinnamon scone and sketching out a rough draft of the revised exercise ring for the dogs. Pardon me, for the babies. If I were the jealous type, I would have had problems with the devotion Napoleon showed to our rescued animals. He demonstrated the same profound obsession with the care of them as he had with the care of UNCLE. However, if I were to be completely honest, he also demonstrated the same kind of obsession with the care of me.

“Illya !!!”

Oh, дєрмо, I was not adequately caffeinated for that tone of voice early in the morning. “On the porch, Napoleon.” _Wondering if I could swim to the mainland_.

With an attitude I had not seen since we retired from the Command, Napoleon ordered, “Grab a jacket. Stan is heading over to pick us up. Etta Beckett was vandalized last night.”

As I stood in the police boat partly listening to the details of the assault, I also thought about our friend Etta. After she had retired from her career with the FBI, she was intent on fulfilling her life’s dream. She considered the summers she had spent with her grandparents at their poultry farm to be the best part of her growing up. However, unlike them, she would raise chickens only for the eggs and would raise them free range. Sort of an aging hippy Earth mother who could also better me sometimes on a shooting range, Etta loved those birds the way Napoleon loved his dogs.

When we reached the dock, I noticed the county coroner’s van at the sheriff’s office. _I guess that settles the problem of the vandal_. Stan knew why I was grinning and said, “Nah, coroner is here picking up a case of apple cider from Alice. Etta nailed the twerp in the butt. I’ve got him in the office.”

It seemed like most of the town’s residents were at Etta’s place by the time we arrived.

I found her sitting on the toilet, in use as a refuge rather than a repository.

“This sucks, Illya”

“That it does.”

“I thought I left crap like this in Washington."

“Etta, we both know there is no place safe anymore.”

“Is the entire town still out there?”

“Pretty much.”

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate their help, but… “

“But sometimes it’s harder to accept help than to do things yourself.”

“Damn straight, comrade.”

Suddenly, Napoleon stuck his head in the door. “Ettta, we can’t get the incubator running!”

And, that is how I ended up sitting in Etta Beckett’s kitchen closet, wearing her nightgown and robe, and trying to get a dozen newly hatched baby chicks to go to sleep in my lap. The pantry closet is where the furnace is, so it’s the warmest room in the house. The little chirping bastards needed warmth and darkness to settle, and Etta decided that my jeans and denim shirt wouldn’t provide enough insulation. So, I sit, in the dark, with a lapful of avian newborns in my pink flannel lap, thinking that somewhere, a large group of dead THRUSH agents are laughing their asses off.

“I’m going to head on home to feed the kids. You need anything in there, partner?”, Napoleon softly asked through the closed door.

“If you see my self-respect, tell it I’m sorry.”

“You know, I don’t think I’ve ever loved you more than I do right now.”

“Smelling like baby chicken poop and looking like my babushka?”

“No, doing something like this to keep those chicks alive for the night. Etta and Sam drove to the city and they should be back by morning with the new incubator.”

“Well, we never abandoned an innocent in all those years with The Command, can’t start doing so now. And, I love you, too, by the way. Now go feed the mongrels.”

“Good night, Father Goose.”

“Atebis.”

 

 


End file.
